Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. Come every day to see you was flourishing. While they were thus occupied, a maid-servant entered the room, and stated that a person was without who had a packet for Captain Darrell, which must be delivered into his own hands. She even touched lightly on her father’s unreasonableness. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. His favorite newspaper was the Times, which he began at breakfast in the morning often with manifest irritation, and carried off to finish in the train, leaving no other paper at home. Perhaps in the beginning the women made fools of themselves over him.
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